Turning human
by Koyukitori
Summary: This is, so far, about Trish dealing with internal "humanly" functions. I think I've finally grasped a plot!
1. Turning human

Trish moaned. The pain in her abdomen was not specifically sharp, but it was a constant, irritating ebb. She could take it. She HAD to take it. She had undergone extreme pain before when she was serving Mundus; pain was no stranger to her.  
  
But it was the blood, all that blood gushing out, which frightened her. Seeing her own life's blood spewing out uncontrollably made her wonder what was wrong with her. Perhaps that lightening bolt she took in place of Dante had caused some internal bleeding? If so, why hadn't she bled, during those four months after the incident?  
  
Finally Trish couldn't take it any more. "Dante," she whispered hoarsely. She cleared her throat.  
  
"Dante!" A more forceful outtake of breath. A slender hand gripped the side of her worn bed. Tired, leaden limbs propped her up. Her stomach felt so bloated. She felt a slight wave of dizziness, followed by a bout of nausea. Thankfully, her muscled legs managed to walk her down narrow stairs, to Dante's living room.  
  
"Dante, I---" Trish faltered, unable to admit that she was hurt, possibly dying.  
  
A chair swiveled around to face her, and icy blue eyes met hers. "Trish? What's up? You sound weird."  
  
Trish shook her head slowly. "Help me." Blond hair fell over her eyes, and Trish felt grateful that her hair shielded them from Dante's view, thus blocking emotions she possibly couldn't allow Dante to read. She hated appearing weak. Especially in front of this formidable man.  
  
"Hey, what's wrong?" Dante, with the agile speed of a predator, leaped up from his chair and dashed to her side. His strong, warm hands steadied her trembling shoulders. "Trish?" A soft enquire.  
  
"I'm bleeding, Dante."  
  
The reply startled the man. Alarm and concern saturated his clear eyes. "Where?" he asked, despite his incredible ability to smell where the source of bleeding was. He did not, though. His mother, he vaguely remembered, once explained that smelling people was a sign of disrespect, of invading their privacy. One could find out what a person has been doing, merely by scenting out the person(s)' emotions, or lingering odours associated to whatever task the person(s)' had been doing.  
  
Trish felt a blush creep up her pale cheeks.  
  
Dante's sensitive nose caught the faint whiff of blood. His demon side stirred, ever so blood thirsty, its lust unquenchable. But this wasn't ordinary blood.  
  
It was. . .a woman's blood. Dante froze for a split second, and stepped back. He laughed, partially relieved, partially embarrassed. Silver bangs fell back, brushing his cheeks.  
  
Trish stepped back as well, surprised by the abrupt change in his demeanor. "What is it?" Irritability cloaked her words.  
  
"Trish, tell me, did it happen last month?"  
  
The strange question caught her off guard. "Well, I---no." She stammered.  
  
A silver eyebrow arched delicately. "Nor the month before? Or the month before the month before?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Hmmm. . .you might be a late starter."  
  
"A late what? What are you talking about, you mutt? I'm bleeding to death here, and you're not doing anything except ask stupid questions."  
  
Definite anger there.  
  
"Whoa, calm down, babe," Dante laughed. "A trip to the nearest London Drugs will solve this." 


	2. Hunter being hunted

Thanks for all the reviews, people! It made me warm and fuzzy inside. I really got inspired to write more :D. I forgot to state this fact in my previous chapter: DMC and all its related characters do NOT belong to me; only to Capcom©. Oh yeah: once again, I'm new to this, so any help on how to improve the layout would help. I'm a real dummy with computers. Ha! Please enjoy!   
  
**Chapter 2: Hunter being hunted**

Trish shivered in the night air.  
  
"Why are we going to London, anyways?" She complained. "Especially since it's so goddamn cold."  
  
Dante arched up a silver eyebrow. "It's London DRUGS. I'm obviously not gonna go all the way to London to get this stuff. And secondly, it's not cold at all."  
  
"Not cold? Look! I have goose bumps all over me."  
  
Dante swept his gaze over Trish's slim body. "Well, if you've worn more clothes, maybe you'd quit whining so much. One week ago you didn't complain so much about the temperature. Why, one'd think that..." Dante stopped in mid- sentence. "Oooh, I see now. No wonder my mother used to wear that cape every time it..."  
  
Dante's muttering was indecipherable to Trish; she could only look at him in confusion.  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
Dante looked up helplessly. "I have no idea," he stated piteously. "I just can't believe that it's ME teaching a female about..." He gritted his teeth in frustration. "Me! The epitome of manliness, instructing a woman on...."  
  
Trish suddenly grew concerned; Dante rarely grew frustrated, and his cheeks never turned so rosy before. Perhaps she had a curse laid on her? Which was now giving Dante a fever of some sort, and fogging up his mind? Why else would someone go as far to London to fix her?  
  
She had to ask---but cautiously: evil spirits might force a false answer from Dante's mouth, if he, too, were affected.  
  
"Dante, I-"  
  
A bright yellow light flooded her eyes.  
  
"We're here! C'mon," Dante grabbed Trish's hand. "I wanna get the stuff and get out as fast as possible."  
  
"'The stuff' ? Dante, will 'the stuff' cure me?"  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Trish held the teal box in her hands. "This is 'the stuff' that'll cure me?"  
  
"Cure?" Dante looked at her like she announced that she'd like to practice sacrificial ceremonies. With him as the sacrifice. "There's no cure for this kind of stuff."  
  
" 'Stuff' again? Dante, can't you be more specific? I have a curse on me, don't I?"  
  
A light came on in Dante's eyes. He hesitated. "Curse...? I should say most women call it that."  
  
"Ugh!" Trish almost stamped her feet in frustration. "You've been doing nothing except talk in riddles since this 'stuff' started!"  
  
"Listen, babe. I'll explain all of this to you, the best I can, once we get back to our place. London Drugs isn't so private, y'know."  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Dante chose the most busiest street home. Seeing Trish's confusion and her mixup thoroughly amused him, but he was slightly concerned. The smell of blood tantalized him...promised him the utmost pleasure if he acted on his more baser instincts. But he could control himself. However, of course, why would an enemy need control itself? Hence the busy path. Except...at this time of night, in this type of neighborhood, the path wasn't...so busy.  
  
Just as he was finishing the observation, he sensed movement in the bushes behind him. Acting without thought, his arm smoothly arced towards Trish, knocking her over. A nasty gash appeared where the scythe of a marionette hit home. He did a slick side somersault to avoid the second blade.  
  
Trish's eyes grew wide. Why hadn't she sensed the blade coming? And why was she so tired? The pain in her abdomen ebbed with the flow of her blood running in her veins, and the blood that was soaking out...she got up. She felt really...bad!  
  
"Trish!" Dante cried out. "Duck!"  
  
She complied, in time to see the fireworks of Ivory and Ebony soaring above her, and the red liquid flowers blooming on the rotten wood of the marionettes.  
  
Why were there so many? Trish pondered. And why...Trish's eyes grew wide. Why were they all coming towards her?!  
  
She shook her head. Of course! That cursed blood. They probably noted her weakened state, as well. Well then. Dante didn't have Ifrit or Alastor on him (as that would draw too much attention), therefore he didn't have his devil trigger, but she still had her demonic powers. Weakened or not, she was still more powerful than any of these lowly minions.  
  
Running up to a group of four, she sliced through a wooden arm with her sharp fingernails, laced with yellow electricity. Except...it was more difficult than usual to do so.  
  
Trish knew that wood didn't conduct electricity. But if there were enough volts, the electricity would heat and soften the wood, thus allowing her to slice through easily. Difficulty in doing so meant that her demonic powers had weakened considerably as well.  
  
The four marionettes, once play things to her, now looked as menacing as the fiery ruby glow in their eyes...


	3. Juggling with Marionettes, and Juggling ...

Author's note: Wheee! I never thought I would ever write an AN, considering I've never seriously considered being a temporary "author" before. I feel so authoritative! Anyways, this story was written in about 25 minutes and at 1AM (mom caught me playing Chaos Legion and sent me to my room o [and KNOW THIS, I am far older than 15 years!!!]), so it's sketchy and I think it jumps all over the place. Once again, me no own DMC and anything related. Capcom(c) rules all; me just poor "author". Once again, THANK YOU ALL for the wonderful reviews!! . Makes me so happy, hehe!  
  
** Chapter 3: Juggling with Marionettes, and Juggling with Emotions**  
  
"Umph!" Trish uttered a grunt as she dodged past a brutal strike attack. She rolled under a blue marionette, kicking it firmly between the legs as she went through. Being wooden, the puppet could, of course, at most feel minimal pain, but the evil spirit inhabiting the wooden vessel, remembering the old days, reflexively bent over.  
  
"Works every time." A wry grin blossomed across Trish's delicate lips. She placed another firm kick, this time to the thing's bottom, with her steel- plated platform. She had to skip above some miscellaneous missiles aimed awkwardly at her back before she could reach the fallen marionette and stomp on its neck to dismember it. It snapped like a twig. Another well- placed stomp smashed its head. "One down, three to go."  
  
As the blonde made another roll to face her opponents, she was startled to see a streak of silver and red dart past her. "DANTE!!"  
  
Dante double-jumped eleven feet into the air and flipped, diving down on his homed opponent, guns flashing their brilliant display of light. Before he reached the marionette's head, he did a quick cat-like turn in the air. His feet landed on its shoulders, and without losing a beat, used his legs to propel him forward to the next enemy.  
  
The six ft. marionette, having a force exerted on it, had no choice but to fly- in the direction where Trish was standing.  
  
She obliterated it with one powerful, albeit lazy, punch, for it was weakened with surprise, its defense down. That, and the fact that it was ridden with holes.  
  
The silver-haired half-demon gave a vicious uppercut to one green jester, hard enough to launch it into the air 5 feet. Immediately afterwards, he dropped to his back and delivered a slide-kick to the red marionette directly behind the first. Dante was so fast, his movements oh so liquid as he jumped up from his down position, muscled legs needing no aid from his arms to get his body up. His rising head connected with the enemy's chin, lifting it, too, in the air. All the while he was pumping lead into the first to levitate it, but now both wooden vessels danced. The bodies wiggled wildly as the guns juggled them. Truly a crazy, sad, dance.  
  
Pieces of the oversized puppets rained everywhere. Trish got bonked on the head by a head---how ironic.  
  
When the chaos was over, Trish glanced over to the heap of wood where Dante was, before he interrupted her fight. "_Helping_, not interfering," he insisted, surveying his beautiful destruction.  
  
"It was interfering with my fun, Dante." As a proud woman, Trish would never admit to the Halfling about the aches in her arms and that she was fatigued to the core, nor the slivers smarting in her right fist---payment for looking cool. "You used a Holy Water, didn't you? To get here, to me, as fast as you could.  
  
"Why? Why did you use such a precious commodity on low-class demons?"  
  
" 'Cuz it was useful." A smirk. "Lookit all them demons, Trish! The scent of your blood has drawn them all to you." Dante sniffed in deeply---he couldn't resist, improper or nay. His next words came out husky. "Your sweet blood. Woman's blood.  
  
"And, goddamit, your state of debility has become so apparent...it might be a hindrance"---here Dante paused, tasting the word Trish had used on him four months earlier---"on our bloody scheme."  
  
"Good parallelism," Trish's compliment was laced heavily with sarcasm. "So does that mean that Devil Never Cry is---"  
  
Dante's compelling eyes froze her in mid-sentence. His next words, fiery with longing, thawed her.  
  
"Trish, do you know how...how enviable you are right now?"

* * *

Oh...my...god...Trish shakily sighed inwardly. Never in her wildest dreams...had she experienced such a feeling, from the touch of one of Dante's hand on her cheeks, thumb stroking languidly across her jaw line...and the other, lightly touching her back. Lightly touching, but undeniably drawing her body towards his. Were they finally stepping across the boundaries between business partners and a true human relationship?  
  
She could feel unearthly warmth emanating from his hands. A healing touch. The heat spread through her body, focusing primarily on her abdomen. The steady ache faded slowly away.  
  
A bang of silver hair, dotted with minute beads of demon blood, brushed across her cheek as he lowered his face to her. His straight, Roman nose nudged hers gently, tenderly, several times.  
  
Their lips did not meet. Not yet, Dante told himself. He wanted to take it as slowly as he could...Trish, after all, did resemble his mother. Although their personalities did not quite match up---Trish was loud where his mother was soft---they did have the same fire. Dante was still uncertain whether his feelings for Trish were similar to that of his mother.  
  
Furthermore, rational told him that out in the public wasn't exactly the best place to make some romance, although the man and the demon inside him were itching to do so.  
  
Dante tilted his head slightly, in order to achieve a better view of Trish's face. Her low, thick lashes were lowered, thus blocking whatever emotions swimming across her eyes from him. As he lowered his face once again to hers, a sparkle caught his eyes, stunning him into temporary paralysis. Trish....was _crying_?  
  
"Trish?" A soft murmur. Dante's left index finger tilted her chin up, until she was fully facing him.  
  
One lone tear trickled down.  
  
"Trish, sweetie---" the man hesitated again. He had never called her that before; it was always babe, or something noncommittal like that. Seeing no reaction, except for a faint blush, he continued to proceed. "Why are you crying?"  
  
It was like a dam of some sorts had broken. Some crocodile tears cascaded down. "I---I don't know." Trish gazed earnestly into Dante's blue eyes--- eyes, for once, that weren't shielded or icy hard. "I...just feel like...I'm suddenly so sad..."  
  
Dante felt a chuckle come from the bottom of his throat. He realized that perhaps Trish wasn't completely immune to the changes---and the resultant emotions--- occurring inside of her.  
  
"It's okay, Trish," he soothed. "My mother used to tell me that this would happen sometimes during that...during that period."  
  
The female devil felt Dante's strong hands tilt her face towards his. She closed her eyes, wishing to feel the new sensations arise to the fullest extent. Being so close to Dante seemed to fill up the dark emptiness that appeared so swiftly in her body. Suddenly, She felt the gentle rasp of the demon hunter's tongue slide gently across her cheek, tasting her. A strange yearning replaced the emptiness.  
  
"Not salty!"  
  
The unexpected shout startled Trish from her reverie. "Wha--?" Befuddled, she could only gape at him.  
  
"Your tears! They're not salty!" Dante's eyes flashed with astonishment.  
  
"What? Are they supposed to be?" A seed of irritation planted inside  
her.  
  
"Guess you're not as human as I thought," Dante said, his trademark smirk playing across his lips.  
  
The mood was totally spoiled.  
  
The seed of irritation efflorescenced quickly into a massive tree.  
  
"Aaargh!" was all Trish could utter before she smacked him, and stormed away.  
  
Dante could only watch Trish stomp for home.  
  
"My mother used to tell me that this would happen, too, sometimes." 


	4. First Lecture

_Author's note: Yippee! Finally finished through the most tedious part of my story. At least, I hope there won't be any more tedious parts…I finally, FINALLY thought up of a plot to this story! And it has to do with Trish turning human (of course)…leading up to DMC2, I'm not gonna reveal anymore…for fear of writer's block and/or spoilation. This lil' piece once again, was born in the early mists of morning….(finished __2:42 AM__ o)_

_ **To the dearest reviewers**:_

Aya Yuy P.SII: I've tried to follow up on Trish's mood swings, hehe . Thanks a bunch for commenting:D.

BloodyDemonEmpress: You're been my most faithful reader so far! :Hands her a Dante plushie:….thank you so much! I didn't think this would turn out to be humourous, haha, but I should change the genre, eh? When are _you_ gonna update?!

Bustahead: Thank you so much for encouraging me, especially since you're a !!celebrity!! in these fanfic parts :D!! I feel so honoured . As soon as I get out of this slavery, I'll relax and read your famous ficcys!

Devilman666: I'll take your word for it, since I haven't played DMC2 yet…However, this lil ficcy takes place 4 months after DMC (not quite DMC2 yet), and I've noticed that Dante doesn't have Devil Trigger when he's not equipped with Devil arms…J

HanyouKayleeSama: I'm glad you enjoyed it! My mission is to please people….and hurt them by making them fall off their chairs! No, just kidding. . Thanks a bunch for commenting :D.

****

****

****

** Chapter 4: First Lecture**

Trish stomped through the doors of Devil Never Cry. She threw the bag onto Dante's desk, fuming. Her blue eyes were clear, unmisted and thoroughly saturated with wrath. How dare he? _Dante_. He was just playing with games with her! Leading her on, melting whatever resistance she had, and then-!

"Not salty".

-Those stupid mocking words. And then, The Smirk. Stupid, stupid!! Trish berated herself. She wanted to pull her hair out. She, instead, plopped onto Dante's favourite chair. The cushion let out a wheeze of protest before it settled.

Dipping from her pool of willpower, she willed herself to calm down. Taking deep breaths, the devil asked herself why she was so angry. Perhaps it was part of the 'woman's curse?' Mayhap, the 'woman's curse' was something like, a possessive spirit of some sorts? That sounded reasonable: her emotions were wildly out of whack. They augmented to great heights, then plummeted like lead airplanes.

Trish supposed she needed a séance. Dante knew how to do one, she was sure. His 'library' consisted of books on black -and white- magic. Books that were ancient beyond the time of Mankind. They were passed on (or, more accurately, recovered) from the library of the Legendary Dark Knight Sparda---Dante's father.

Blowing out a puff of air, she decided to forgive him if he would purge the spirit out of her.

Just then, the door opened.

"Trish?"

The woman looked up at him from the worn chair. "That's my name. Don't wear it out."

Dante grinned tentatively. When it came to dealing with women with premenstrual syndrome, he had limited experience. When it came to dealing with a devil, already having problems controlling her emotions, afflicted with PMS, he had to be very, _very_ careful.

"Listen, babe. About that tear thing---"

Trish raised an eyebrow.

"I was just surprised---"

Trish felt a surge of control, for once, over this male. "Surprise? Since when does the Legendary Dark Knight Dante feel _surprise_?" She got up and took her time walking around his mahogany desk.

Dante clearly was not enjoying her hold of power over him. For the first time since they met, he seemed wary of her. She could learn to like this curse.

But then again…If Dante was cautious of it, shouldn't she be, too? It could be an extremely rare, evil spirit.

Trish decided not to live with it.

But first, she would enjoy her authoritative hold over Dante while she still could, before he exorcised it from her.

"Alright, little boy," Trish began. "I'll let you do an exorcism now to banish this thing from me."

A silver eyebrow arched up. "First a curse, and now an exorcism? Trish, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, can it!" Trish snapped. "Look at you! You're practically shaking in your booties because you're so scared of this spirit in me. Denying it won't help matters."

"Trish…dammit! You have no curse, you have no spirit or whatnot. You just have your period!" The raise in Dante's voice, dotted with weariness and irritability, shocked Trish into silence.

"Okay, babe. Did you open the box of…did you open the box yet?"

The woman shook her head.

"Jeez." A hand impatiently (but futilely) pushed back a lock of hair from Dante's face. "You didn't put it…you…nothing?"

She looked at him. "You're stuttering."

An audible intake of breath. A tint of pink bloomed on the halfling's cheeks as he asked: "Trish, you didn't put anything on your…on your underwear?"

Trish realized what he was implying, and she felt her cheeks warming as well. "Just some…toilet paper, before we left."

" ' They soaked through, yet?"

"No. Yes. I didn't have time to replace them, yet."

Dante walked over and picked up the teal-coloured box. He opened it up for a quick glance. "Oh," he murmured, "I didn't get the sticks. I got the diapers."

"Diapers?" Trish's eyes widened in horror. "Why in the world did you get _diapers_ for?!"

"To line your underwear with, silly." He impatiently pushed the box across the desk to her. "Now go get cleaned up. Instructions should be printed somewhere."

* * *

In the privacy of the washroom, Trish examined the box. "Ignorant demon!" She exclaimed. "These aren't diapers. They're pads!"

But he did have a point. The pads were just there to keep the blood from staining up her pants. So essentially, they _were_ miniature diapers.

Feeling less soiled, she made her way downstairs. "Alright, Dante. I've lined it with a _pad_."

Dante either didn't acknowledge the hint, or choose to ignore it.

"So you want to know it all, babe? I'll tell you what I've been thinking while you were gone," he said, whilst Trish sat down opposite from him. "Before, you could only see in black and white, or infrared, correct?"

Trish nodded. "Yeah, yeah, we know that already---"

"Just listen to me, willya? Okay, and you seeing the world in colours just started a month ago…3 months after Mundus' defeat. And the day immediately after you met me"---Here Trish grinned as she fondly recalled the memory, which was not lost to Dante ---"you'd cried your first tears. The first real display of physical human emotion, other than anger, or surprise.

"I've also noted that your body is more susceptible to the environment than it was before you left the underworld. You get colder and warmer easier. I do believe you're turning warm-blooded."

"Yes, professor Dante. Demons and devils are cold-blooded. They lay eggs. Since I am now…almost warm-blooded, my children needn't be born from eggs."

Dante's blush reoccurred at the thought of Trish having babies. "Trish, you're distracting me---"

"I know, I know," A lazy sweep of her hands. "Please do go on."

The demon hunter ignored the sarcasm. "And what do we have here? The first case of menstruation!

"Trish, you're finally a woman."

"Oh ho, and I was a man before! You found out my secret."

"Trish! Will you please stay quiet, and let me finish?" Her lack of patience only tested his.

The female sat back, realizing she had gone too far. Why _did _she have to be so belligerent all of a sudden? Dante was helping her here. Surely her gradual changes and the 'woman' nonsense he was babbling about had some significant connection to her 'curse'.

"I know there's something about ovulation and the lining of something…when there's no fertilization, the egg cell and the lining gets washed out from the body in the form of blood."

"Dante, you're making no sense here."

The tinge of rose seemed to be permanently stained on the half-demon's face. He looked like a cherub all of a sudden, and that strangely appealed to Trish. She stared at him with wolfish eyes.

"Sorry, babe, but I guess I hafta be blunt. I don't exactly remember my studies of this stuff…" Dante took a deep breath before verbal diarrhea gushed from his mouth: "Hokay. When no copulation occurs, there's obviously no fertilization. The egg and the lining that's supposed to hold the baby get old and washed out from the body, in the form of blood. This happens once a month, for a period of four, five, six days; something like that. Oh yeah: this is no curse. It happens all the time to women. It shows whether you're capable of reproducing or not. By the way, it's called a 'period'. Don't ask me why."

Here ends Trish's first lecture on sex and her body.

She could hardly swallow the lump that abruptly clogged the passage through her throat.

"You mean, I have to face through this torture, for the rest of my life?"


	5. Dream

_Author's note:__ This is finally an evening- time fic (finished __7:17 PM__)! I was unsure of how to launch off the plot of this story…so it took longer than usual to finish it. .I also forgot to write about the disclaimer stuff in Chapter 4, absent-minded me o. I do not own Dante, Trish, Devil Never Cry, Devil May cry, Eva, Vergil, Sparda, bladda, dadda, yadda. Everything about DMC is Capcom's, except fanfics and fanarts made by fans of DMC. A-hem .The fans don't belong to Capcom either…or do they?_

_Thank you again, reviewers, for sticking through my story! I got a huggie from Bustahead! Gets happy_

_New face in the crowd: **Peter the Muggle **_:D….: _I'm_ _really, really glad that you think I've captured Dante and Trish's characters (I tried hard _:D_)_…_just last day I kept hearing Dante say in my head_: "Give my regards to my son, willya?" .

_Anyhoo, enough blibbering. On to the story!_

****

* * *

- 

****

****

****

** Chapter 5: Dream**

"Mmm---"

"Muh…Muh---"

"Mother!"

Sweat enveloped the man's skin. It soaked through the flimsy, moth-eaten sheets.

"No! Nnn…nuh…nuh…no!"

A lone body, twisting in bed. A door slammed open. A light.

"Dante!" His mother's voice.

"Mommy…"

"Dante, it's alright." A cool, soothing hand lighted on his fevered skin. His mother's hand. His mother's sweet, delicate hand.

"No, not alright! Mommy, look…" tears squeezed out from scrunched eyes. "You're leaving muh-muh-me…"

"Shhh, Dante. I'm here. Open your eyes."

"Nuh-no! You're going to where Daddy went!" Dante wrenched his eyes open, stared into eyes as clear and as blue as his. Eva's eyes. "You're going!" He wrapped his muscular (muscular?!) arms around the blonde's slim shoulders. He breathed in her scent. "Mother…"

"Dante." The voice was lowered, the tone gentle. "Wake up." The words were now spoken in a whisper. They tickled his ears, eased him.

"Are you going to stay?"

A cynical grin. "If you want me to."

"I thought you…you…were going to duh-", he couldn't get the word out. He looked at the female sitting on his bed. He looked at the blood staining his bed. His frantic eyes widened. "No! You _are_ going to die! Mother, you're bleeding!"

Trish stood up. Dante was obviously confused, and it seemed the blood didn't help. She cursed the pad, she cursed how goddamn hard it was placing it precisely in the right position, so the blood wouldn't leak everywhere. She sighed, and thought it wise to ditch the pacifier role.

"Wake up, Dante! Trish, your assistant, calling!"

Confusion hazed Dante's eyes. "Mom?"

"Call me that one more time, and I'll _have_ to send you to your mother." Cruel, but it was working. She could see his blue eyes clearing. She sat back down again.

"Trish?"

"Jackpot."

"Trish, what are you doing here?"

She almost fell off the bed. "How about asking yourself why you're calling me…_mommy_?"

She saw Dante wince. "Did I…say that?"

She didn't answer verbally. She let him read the answer in her narrowed eyes. "God," he muttered, turning away hastily.

"Dante, do you want to talk about it?" Trish asked softly, and tried to find a comfortable position on the bed. He didn't look at her; instead, he buried his face in the pillows. "No," came the muffled reply. "Lemme go back to sleep."

She gritted her teeth. Talking to Dante about his mother was like trying to pry an oyster open with bare fingernails. He was a gushing waterfall when it came to talking about killing demons to avenge her death (obviously Mundus was not enough to quench his blood thirst for revenge), but he basically clammed up when the topic about her death hinted to arise. Trish thought it was unhealthy, bottling up the emotions, but she never pried again. Dante seemed to read her thoughts, and once commented dryly: "Another new emotion? Concern? Truly turning human here, aren't we, Trish?"

So the topic remained scared territory, and Trish knew tonight wasn't the night to breach it, either. She was desperate to know about Eva, Dante's mother. After all, wasn't she fashioned from the human? Trish shook her head. All she could do now was leave. She got up, biting her lip. She had almost reached the doorway when she heard Dante's foot sliding through the covers, and a gurgled yelp.

"_TRISH_!!"


	6. Why Now?

. 

Author's Note: _Thank you so much for the review**,  burryk**! I'm sorry, though, to keep you waiting for a…dissatisfying chapter:_

_This chapter's a bit short. Blame it on my illness and my writer's block !!_

_Anyhow, look for no humour in this piece…I was in a melancholy mood, and couldn't think of anything funny to write…_

_By the way...any hints on how to make spaces and indetations and symbols appear on the screen would be greatly appreciated! (I'm sick of the 8 spaces on the spaces bar ). Once again, I don't own DMC/DMC-related thingies._

_

* * *

_

** Chapter 5: Why now?**

**-**

****

An air of somnolence hung over Dante, but he could not feel asleep. No, not like this: feet dangling over the arms of his favourite, but worn, chair; clad only in black shorts; shivering in the cold 'living room/office' of Devil Never Cry. His back was aching in the cramped position, but he couldn't muster any strength to get up and change position. Furthermore, Trish's complaints had decided to take residence in his ears, and he couldn't get them out. Her angry protests rang on and on in his ears (long after the owner had left to sleep in her cozy, warm bed upstairs), denying him of any sleep.

All this torture, because her blood had soaked through the linen, and worse, into the mattress. She didn't have a right to complain about cleaning up, oh no, because it was she who soiled his sleeping place up. However, complain she did. Obviously she had never heard of the terms "clean up", and "fairness", in the Underworld.

Dante also cursed himself for his negligence. He lived alone, had always did, so he needed at most two pairs of bed lining. Conversely, ever since Trish moved in, Dante neglected to buy another sheet. And there was also the problem of the wet mattress…the man guffawed dryly.

A flash of blood-soaked hair shot through Dante's mind.

He shook his head. Yes, the only reason he couldn't sleep was because of that damned woman.

_Beautiful blonde hair, painted with crazy patterns of crimson._

Dante lurched up in his seat, almost falling over.

Another flash of memory: a soft spoken voice, gentle, but laden with pain. "_Dante_…"

"No." the half-demon stood up, refusing the image to take place in his head. 'No, dammit, leave me alone." He failed.

Three words, spoken in a ghostly whisper: "_I love you_…"

One glistening tear. Then another. And another. Finally, the dam broke, and Dante found himself helplessly clutching at his eyes, refusing to cry, un-acknowledging that he was. Broad shoulders silently heaved. Tears as hoary as his hair spilled, turning golden in the weak candlelight. "Why now, mother?"

A shadowy figure watched him for a long time, from the darkness. Dante was too deep in his grief to even notice it. The figure, wrapped in sable fingers, turned back, hair reflecting aureate for a split second before being devoured by the blackness.

"If tears could talk, what tales would they tell?" The form soundlessly climbed up the stairs, wishing it had enough courage the approach the halfling, and comfort him.


	7. The Pains of Ice Cream

Author's note**: **_I'm so tired! ;D…3:08__ A.M.__, haha! I played DMC again, before I typed this thingie out. I want to go to sleep now, so no more, except…DMC not mine. _

_P.S. **Bustahead,** I've finally managed to fit in Trish's craving ._

* * *

****

****

** Chapter 7: The Pains of Ice Cream**

**-**

Pale light streamed through dusty windows. Slowly but surely, it inched towards the closed eyes of Dante. When the light lit upon sensitive eyelids, the male devil hunter instantly awoke, and jerked himself upright.

"Ah—ah-ah-aah," he groaned, stretching like a cat, his all-too-achy back arching. His muscles were cramped from sleeping on the chair. _I should get a couch_, he thought to himself, and made a bee-line to the bathroom, which was in the back of his 'office/living room'. He hated the morning taste in his mouth; he could not get his day started without a good shot of toothpaste.

As he was brushing his teeth, Dante heard a raucous commotion out in front. Dashing out, mouth foaming, he saw Trish stumbling forth from the front doors with 2 giant shopping bags, one in each hand.

"What the he---"

"Morning, Dante! You're looking good." She dashed up the stairs.

Shaking his head, Dante decided to finish his morning ritual before investigating. When the halfling finished brushing his teeth and shaving, he went upstairs to his room to don on a black muscle tee and some old, holey jeans, all the while hand-combing his shaggy hair. Satisfied, he then proceeded to Trish's room.

"Trish?" He knocked on her tightly-shut door.

No answer.

"What's going on in there?"

No answer.

"Trish, answer me, or I'll knock down the door!" A hint of worry tinged his words. Trish was in a weakened state; anything could have happened.

"Mmmph! Guurhhh----"

That wasn't good enough for Dante. True to his word, he 'knocked' down the door, with a single, well-aimed punch, before the muffled nonsense had a chance to finish.

The fallen door gave sight to a disheveled young blonde, sitting on her unmade bed, spooning some kind of gunk in her mouth. She swallowed. "Dante! I told you to wait!"

"Wait? Sorry babe, I don't speak MFT," He leaned forward over her, and sniffed. "What the hell?" he repeated again. "Ice cream, so early in the morning?"

"MFT?" Trish shoved another giant spoonful into her mouth, after shoving him away, first. "Whoot's phat?"

"Mouth Full Talk," responded Dante. He leaned forward, and sniffed again. "Mmm...Green Tea. You have good taste." He tried to wrestle the spoon from her.

She growled. "Didn't you say that eating ice cream now was too early in the morning?" Protective hands covered the opening of the carton.

Dante shrugged. "Suit yourself, babe." He got up from the bed, knowing full well that Trish would get sick soon enough, and he'll be able to feed next. She did, after all, buy two full shopping bags of ice cream. A thought scampered through his still-sleepy brain. He remembered that his mom would get an enormous craving for ice cream about once a month. She was careful not to eat much, then. Even after miniscule amounts, she would drink lots of hot tea, or warm milk. Dismissing it as unimportant, Dante exited the room.

* * *

After a short while, the half-demon heard Trish's groans upstairs. _Aha_! She probably stuffed her face full of ice cream, and now she was paying the price. Dante ran up the stairs and eagerly opened the door to the female's room, thinking of stealing the frozen treat from her nose while she was still weak. The sight that greeted his eyes shocked him.

Trish was lying on her side, clutching her stomach. As she looked up to face him, Dante noticed that her face was paler than usual. "…Hurts…." she whimpered. A half-empty carton lay sadly on its side on the floor.

"God, what did you do now?" Dante looked around the room, searching for any hidden cartons. "How many boxes of ice cream did you eat?"

"I didn't eat… _that_…much…" The devil pointed to the lone carton next to the bed.

"Just half a carton? I don't understand." Dante picked up the box and sniffed its contents. His sensitive nose told him it hadn't gone bad, had a long way before it would go bad. He trusted his nose. Dante's refrigerator contained things that resembled biological experiments gone awry. His nose was the only thing that could pick out 'foods' that were edible.

He then noticed that Trish wasn't clutching her stomach; she was clutching her abdomen. He poked it, not too gently. "Does it hurt there?" He started remembering what he had been thinking earlier, and a theory formulated in his mind.

"Ow!" Trish's response confirmed his theory.

* * *

Seconds later, Trish was holding an aged hot-water bottle to her abdomen, while sipping hot water. Water was the only thing Dante had; he had forgotten to restock his supplies.

"I didn't think that this was significant, but it seems that you can't eat or drink any cold stuff while you have your…period."

Trish snorted. "Tell me that again."

"I didn't think that this was sig---" Trish stopped Dante by putting a shaky hand to Dante's lips. "You know what I meant. Quit being corny."

Dante couldn't help it. He was secretly thinking of ice cream, now stashed in the refrigerator---downstairs. He would always get corny when he was excited about something.

"So, you can only eat so much. And even if you ate, for example, 5 spoonfuls, it would be best to counteract the effect by eating or drinking something warm."

Trish sipped her hot water. She was getting drowsy again, and the pain was ebbing away. Her eyes closed for a couple of seconds, then opened again. The warmth around her belly felt so delicious…

"It's okay, Trish," Dante said to her. "You're more tired than usual. It's best that you sleep, so you can recover." He lowered her down, and covered her with her blankets. "I'll shut the door when I go out, so I don't disturb you, kay?"

Trish nodded her head. Dante was so kind to her. She thought that was a tad suspicious, but was too tired to care. She had already snuggled up and was halfway to Dreamland when Dante exited the room with the empty cup in his hands. An evil smile appeared on his lips after he shut the door. He noiselessly inched his way downstairs to a treasure box called a refrigerator.


	8. Sweet

_ **Author's note**: Ice cream, or going into battle: which is sweeter? Obviously the latter! This chapter doesn't make any sense…?_

_I bow down to the reviewers! Hello, Rodarian! _

_---Now off to eat fishies, yum---_

_P.S.: DMC's Capcom's (c)._

* * *

****

****

** CHAPTER 8: Sweet**

Trish opened her eyes, and the sensation of melting disappeared. Groggily shaking her head, she sat up. Strange how her dreams were becoming. Of course, she deemed it as unimportant; she never had dreams before, until after the first day she had became Dante's side-kick. The actual thought of having such things still remained bizarre to her.

The woman grinned wryly as she recalled the first time she had a dream. The images in her head were so clear, as clear as the sky was when the two escaped Mallet Island. She had dreamed of Dante holding her, pressing his lips against hers. She was utterly bewildered when Dante's attitude towards her the next morning had not changed. It was only after much frustration and embarrassment had Dante pried out the reason why she was looking hurt, and, after initial confusion (and denial!), explained to her what a dream was. But ever since that dream, she had felt some kind of pull towards him.

Even now, she occasionally had problems separating dreams from reality. But she had no problems determining that this slightly blurred memory (although thoroughly disturbing and somehow familiar) was definitely a dream. If it wasn't, then she wouldn't be solid now!

Trish allowed her mind to nudge faded images back to the present. It was always of her somehow melting, melting slowly, but painlessly. She wasn't afraid, though. She felt like someone strong was standing next to her, holding her weakening body. And then a taste of blood, warm blood that made her tingle everywhere. And strength…and life…

Trish smiled. She somehow liked this dream, disturbing as it was. It was strange in the fact that, in the beginning, it spotted here and there, little slivers between usual dreams of total nonsense. Then it started getting more common, about once or twice a week. And now…the reoccurring dream invaded her mind almost every other day.

A sudden craving hit her, interrupting her ponderings. Trish beamed. All this melting stuff reminded her of ice cream! She jogged down the stairs, following the path Dante (unbeknownst to her) had taken 2 hours before. All thoughts vanished from her head. Her stomach was doing the thinking now.

The 'living room' was silent. Trish scanned the room for Dante, but there was no sign of him anywhere. He was probably greasing up his motorcycle again. She grabbed a spoon as she trotted up and opened the fridge.

The sight inside made her livid with anger.

"_Dante_!!"

The devious little bastard! Three of the five cartons of ice cream she bought were missing. No wonder he was so eager to make her fall asleep! The plain hot water was probably laced with sleeping pills, or something. Now, she fumed, the sneak was probably hiding from her.

Trish's appetite was unabated, though, so she took the remaining carton (strawberry marble! At least she knew know which flavour Dante was least likely to touch) out. She'll scold him later. Remembering her previous experience, Trish dug out a spoonful, and slowly sucked, making sure every mouthful was fully melted before swallowing. That way, there was little chance of the frozen treat giving her any aches.

The phone rang. Trish swallowed quickly, forgetting to be cautious.

"Devil Never Cry."

A panic-stricken voice started babbling in her ear. Trish focused closely on the words, and managed to pick out some fuzzy descriptions, and location of the occurrence. When the voice finally exhausted itself, Trish asked, "Hold on, sir. Password?"

The speaker hesitated. "It's… um…ahhh…"

"Sir, I can't do anything if there's---"

The voice frantically interrupted, finally remembering. Trish hung up, a smile on her face.

Picking up the Sparda sword (it was heavier than usual, she noticed), she dashed out the door, hoping to find Dante. There he was, polishing his precious bike. Or pretending to, for a spoon guiltily lay next to him.

"Ah, Trish!" Dante greeted her with a cherubic smile. "How was your nap? Feeling be---"

"Shut up, Dante, and listen to me," Trish interrupted. "I---"

Dante eyed the utensil next to him, damning evidence. "This lil' spoon was helping me measure out the oil---" he cut in, obviously mistaking Trish's excitement for anger.

"I don't care about spoons now, Dante! Password! Another heavy one!"

Something flickered in the half-demon's eyes. "A job?"

Trish nodded once. "Descriptions made me think of Shadows. A lot of them. Seems like we have a bit of hunting to do." She smiled slowly. "And…the guy sounds like the type to pay handsomely."

This time the flicker was discernible enough to recognize. Bloodlust. A faint line of red rimmed Dante's irises as his hunter instincts flared up. It was, after all, 2 weeks since they had a heavy job. Ever since Mundus had been sealed up, leaderless bands of demons and spirits had been roving around aimlessly. However, even the most pitiful evil creature had fear, Dante knew. With no sense of direction, the evil things could do naught but release their fear in the form of chaos. Therefore, they attacked only when numbers of a group grew large enough to cause sufficient damage. This explained for the numerous days of peace between jobs.

Additionally, the access to the Underworld was somewhat stemmed, so the supply of demons had slowed down considerably, making their business suffer even more. _Finally_ some action, and a group of shadows, at that! This was going to be very, _very_ fun.

"Lemme grab my toys," Dante grinned. _Sweet_…


	9. Unbeatable Team

**Author's note:** _My head hurts, and so does my backbone from sitting so long in this chair. I must the most complainest author here........._

_Sorry, guys. This time, it's going to be quantity over quality --. I really loved your reviews! Love love love! That's why I suffered through this agony ..... _:D

_Diclaimer: This disclaimer states that it did not diss any claims. Oh yea, and_**_ DMC's Capcom's_.**

****

* * *

****

****

** CHAPTER 9: Unbeatable Team**

****

The devil hunters arrived at the isolated place two hours later, after riding through a rough road between copses and copses of trees. Trish unconsciously muttered to herself about her wind-beaten skin, and threw her tangled silky hair over her shoulders. Dante caught her words, and looked at her silently. Yes, the woman's skin was definitely more sensitive than ever.

"You, there!" A shrill, shaky voice called out to them. "Please hurry!"

Trish swiveled her head to face a youth, about 5 metres away. It looked as if he had showered in blood. His entire front shirt was just drenched in the red stuff, and if one inspected closely, could see little bits and pieces of…

She rather not see. Her stomach was already a little queasy: no need to intensify it further. She jumped off the bike, and dashed towards the man. "Hey. Where are you hurt?"

The teen looked into her eyes with blank, crazed eyes. "Hurt? No, I'm not hurt. Not even a scratch. But the others…" He started laughing hysterically. "They're all dead! Dead! Dead!" The laughter cut off abruptly, and just as sudden, tears spilt down his bloody cheeks, leaving clean trails in their wake.

The young man suddenly shuddered, and pulled off his shirt. He threw it on the ground, with a noise of disgust and sorrow. Thick tears curved around his chin and fell, darkening the ground. It seemed he had calmed down, somewhat.

Trish couldn't stand people with weak dispositions; they were liable to snap and go nuts. She could feel no pity for the crying boy, only concern that he would keep valuable information from them, if he did go crazy. Which, in cases like these, most victims did: demons tended to have that effect on weak humans. It was best to ask in a business-like manner; detach all senses of emotion from the situation.

"What happened? _Don't_ leave anything out," she coolly questioned.

The young man only pointed a trembling finger towards a looming mansion. "Shadows! Lots and lots of them! I thought one was my shadow. We were having a club meeting, and there were tea, and biscuits---" Here Trish's lips curved into the slightest of smiles. It was funny how the mind worked, remembering unnecessary details. "---The den was bright. I thought it strange that people had shadows."

"Son, there are always shadows where there's light," Dante said, coming up next to the duo, impatience clouding his eyes. He tapped his booted foot.

"The den has overhead lights. The shadows should have been right underneath everyone's feet. Instead, they dragged behind whenever people walked. Like dragging a carcass, or something." The boy's voice was tinged with a bit of indignity, and most of the tremble had disappeared. "I'm not stupid."

Trish gave an inner smile. Good old Dante. His months of practice on making _her_ feel stupid was now paying off: he was making the boy think more clearly by insinuating that the youth was a bit slow. She asked the boy, "How many, in total?"

"Seven men. My father…" The wavering voice trailed off, then came back strong. "My father ringed you. I thought it was absurd that he was risking his life to make a telephone call. But he's dead." The youth choked. Trish thought he was going to start blubbering again, but that did not happen. "I now see why he called you people. I see lots of guns. Slay them. Slaughter them all for my father."

Dante nodded once, and Trish finally smiled. "We'll get them." With that, they both ran up the path leading to the house, and disappeared through the open door.

Trish stopped in the gloom, and turned to Dante. "How many yellows?"

Dante didn't even need to check. "Six, excluding ours. Looks like someone has to stay dead."

"Ha-ha. But we could always use yours." Trish looked around, her long blonde hair swaying around. "This is some place. You know, that kid talks rich."

"Would you believe, I used to talk like that, too?"

The place was one-story a building, but it promised to be large. It was a hunting lodge of some sorts, or perhaps, a club meeting place. The short entrance hallway led to an enormous room, one wall plastered with countless deer antlers. Victorian-style settees were scattered about the floor, and some were ripped in places. A chandelier glittered softly in the dark.

"Oh yes, I forgot that you are royalty. Now I know where you got your trophy idea from." Trish waved her hand towards the display of animal heads. "Too bad you aren't as sophisticated. Your demon heads draw flies, and blood streaks are really difficult to get off wooden walls."

"Blood streaks are also really hard to get out of cotton sheets," Dante retorted.

Trish said two words. "Ice cream."

The halfling shut up.

They stepped through another door, into a darkened, narrow hallway. The only decoration was a set of marble busts. The red carpet lining was plush, yet it softly squished wetly under their weight. The two devil hunters' eyes, both in night vision, saw that their shoes were stained with a red juice.

At the end of the hallway, they came upon a body, the source of the carmine trail. Dante whistled softly. "Looks like we have victim #1."

Trish bent over the motionless body. "Yeah, and it seems Kitty was very angry."

"Understatement of the year. This guy'll be scarred for life. Get him out first, or finish the mission, then get him out?"

"_Now_ who's understating?" Trish stepped into the adjourning room, and was greeted with the stare from a stuffed black panther. She almost blew its head off, thinking it was a Shadow. She shivered. She didn't like this place at all. She hated the bland, glassy stares of once magnificent animals, now stuffed trophies. "Clear out the place first. Wouldn't want the men running around and getting killed again."

The panther's glassy eyes suddenly became two pinpoints of red light. Respnding quickly, Trish smoothly grabbed the shotgun from the holster of her hip, coolly aimed, and fired. She missed.

There was a guttural growl in response to the cacophonous bang. The pinpoints blinked, and all the darkest shadows in the room seemed to merge towards the stuffed panther. The panther exploded, revealing the Shadow underneath. It was truly beautiful, from the long saber-like teeth jutted from its growling mouth, to its eyes, eyes were of the purest ruby-red. Streaks of violet ran through its body, over and over, a never-ending cycle. It padded around the room, warily sizing up the two humans.

From experience, Trish knew the Shadow wouldn't attack until it judged its opponent. She definitely didn't want to give it any hints on how she moved; it was dangerous enough without predicting her moves. Raising her hand, she fired again, the saw-off end giving an acrid smoke.

The shadow, sensing her movement, leaped towards her at full speed, for it was a creature from old, and it didn't know what a gun was. The bullet met its face, and it leaped back. It went back in stalking mode, now extremely cautious.

A faint noise, and it withdrew into the floor, forming a puddle. The puddle crept toward her, and no bullets left the shotgun, for Trish knew it couldn't be hurt like this. She stood her ground, gun always pointed between the two pinpoints of light. With frightening speed, the Shadow shot from the floor, just inches from her face. Trish then squeezed the trigger. From experience, Shadows were damaged most easily when they were attacking, and in this range.

It leapt back, startled and hurt. Another leap and it was out the door. It stopped in midair, though, for Ebony and Ivory were pumping lead into it. The cat-like spirit hissed, and executed a clean spin in mid-air---only to be greeted with another shot from Trish's weapon. Its spells weakened; it could tolerate no more. Its core lifted itself from its back, yellow and red and utterly tempting. Dante lunged towards it, in Stinger fashion, and struck it repeatedly. After about three devil-triggered Stingers, the Shadow re-oriented itself, and changed back to cat-form.

Too late…its sleek body was throbbing and all red, the flashing core embedded in its middle. Vengeance flashed in its eyes, and it leapt towards its first tormentor, Trish. She deftly escaped by rolling underneath it, and kicking it in its belly. The strike heaved it into the air, where it harmlessly exploded.

Trish smiled.

"Good job, partner," Dante re-holstered his guns. "Let's get 'em."

The next Shadow attacked them while they were in the weaponry room. Using teamwork, they easily disposed of it quickly. Seeing nothing of any value, they quickly exited.

Back into another darkened hallway. Both their ears twitched slightly. An intake of air, almost inaudible, somewhere. Trish instinctively rolled sideways, and Dante jumped up, right on top of a black, deadly spear. Ebony and Ivory whipped out and began their work.

Trish started shooting, too, until she heard a guttural garble. She didn't have time to look up, only time to dodge again. A Shadow came smashing down, in the form of a wheel, with a wicked blade in front. The carpet was ripped in two, and the wood underneath caught its blade, temporarily trapping the cat.

Trish wasted no time, shooting and reloading as fast as she could, combining her devil powers (although weakened) with her gun. The Shadow, shifting shape, then tried to swipe at her. "Bingo!" She breathed, as the core revealed itself. She lunged forward, in the same fashion as Dante, Sparda sword bloodthirstily drawn to the exposed weakness.

The sword, instead, hit the cat-like body of another Shadow, suddenly rising up in front of her. Translucent purple spears blasted out, piercing agonizingly through her body, as she, too late, tried to evade.

"Flock---!" Dante was running up the wall from his now-red Shadow, just in time to see Trish injured. He did a backwards jump over the angry spell, confusing it. In its hesitation, it exploded, giving off blood money, and much needed magical healing.

Trish did not hesitate, even in her pain. She rolled and rolled until it wasn't so excruciating to stand. When stand she did, her index finger did a deadly dance, eyes flashing, blood slightly trickling from pale lips. She was doing fairly fine despite her injury, Dante noticed. The core of the second sneaky Shadow revealed itself, just as the first reorganized itself.

"Come on, Kitty," Dante tried to lure the first cat-like spirit towards him. It looked at him, growling furiously. And then ---something awful happened. Red lightening swept around and around its body. It hissed at him again, saber-teeth snapping.

"Holy Featherfaces---Trish! It devil-triggered!" He shot at it. Bad mistake. It went crazy, jumping around and up walls, each contact with any surface making it shoot out purple spikes. The spikes disappeared after a while, and reappeared back on the Shadow's body.

Trish was running, as well, the second Shadow, now crimson, right behind her, maws stretching wide, towards him. She double jumped over the shadow, and ran the other way, far enough to get out of the explosion's radius. The spikes lodged in her arms and chest faded away. She dashed across the site of explosion, healing herself with the cool green mist of an green orb.

A flash of purple light up ahead caught her attention. "Damn that Dante," she whispered to herself. "He always makes them trigger." Running in the direction opposite to where she had went, she caught the sight of the half-demon, squaring off with the first Shadow. One laced with blue lightening, one with red. A black figure, veins running with blue electricity, shot at the cat. Magnificent black wings were scrunched up in the narrow hallway.

The black demon caught her eye. Even under extreme danger, a trace of a smile curved the demon's lips. "They always choose a cramped hallway so I can't show off my wings," he called off to her. "Get it."

Trish grinned back. Lacing her electricity with her shotgun, she fired as rapidly as she could. The cat, not expecting this intrusion, turned, only to get fried by Dante's blue lightening. It weakened. Trish stabbed, summoning all her devil powers in one powerful thrust. As she did so, a black figure rushed past her.

It was too late to stop her momentum, and all she could do was finish the move. The core exploded in a fiery flash of light, as the spell broke. Trish back-flipped twice to avoid the bomb-like kamikaze. "Guess I'm still not that weak, when I focus all my power into one blow," she grinned, though her arms were aching horribly. She turned to face Dante.

Dante, who was on his knees, impaled by a black spear. He was directly behind her. The spear withdrew, and Dante's blood spewed out. He got up, a hole in his chest.

"I _hate_ it when they do that." He touched the hole, briefly, and the blood flow slowed considerably.

Trish couldn't believe it. How could she not have sensed another shadow lurking right behind her? How come she didn't sense the Shadow that appeared in front of her when she was stabbing another? She stood there, dumbfounded.

Dante shot her a look, and shrugged. "So I'm not funny." He started shooting again. He shot at the Shadow, which had leapt up onto the ceiling, and began its freewheeling descent, blade in front, until the very last millisecond, moving gracefully out of the way. "Come on, Trish! We don't want another attack."

Trish snapped out of her thoughts, and, suddenly furious, went charging towards the black spirit, shotgun crackling angrily with electricity. Dante, sensing her fury, stepped aside.

She defeated it within seconds.

Whe she rejoined him the female looked at Dante. He wasn't even breathing hard, whereas she was panting audibly. She seemed to be the only one who was slight perspiring, which made her feel even more inferior.

"When will this stupid curse end?" She asked him crossly.

Dante, quickly understanding what she was talking about, gave her a look-over. "I guess 3 days, give or take a day. Sure, you're a bit weakened, but it'll end."

"I sure hope so. My lack of sensitivity of really sucks."

"I gather you don't know, or didn't sense, that we still have 3 Shadows to defeat?"

Trish pouted, then smiled. "Guess I'd have to make up for it by defeating them all myself!" Picking up the increasingly heavy Sparda sword, she ran towards yet another room, Dante close behind her.

Trish was stubborn, he thought. But he was impressed by her stamina. Although she was weaker than he was now, he knew that her energy would never let her fall. And if he could help it, he would never allow her to fall, either.


	10. The Bikini

**Author's notes: **

****

****

**FIRST, TO MY DEAREST REVIEWRS!!**

** anarchy-munky**: _You love me?! YAY!! I love you, too! Haha, I bet you really meant you love my story._

** Angles Never Die**_: Really?_ -eyes wide-_ You really think so?_ -eyes wider-_ Really!! Thank you!!_ :D-frowns-_ oh no…but this chapter…not…really…___

** Bustahead**_: Here's your update! _:)_ Ugh…I took too long_... _don't worry, I have an explanation!_

** BloodyDemonEmpress**_: Nono! You don't have to feel obliged to review…but your excuse…my, my, you gotta see my excuse for being so late with this chapter…_

** burryk**_: More than 2 shadows **are** fun to kill! Except when they devil-trigger, for me, though__…I like listening to their growls and letting them stalk me. Loads of fun! _

** Livy**_: Qide, are you following my story? Are you reading this now? Are you? Are you? _:D

** Peter the Muggle**_: Aww! I'm so glad you liked my action scene…__ It was the first I've ever written, too…so I'm really happy that you didn't skip it! _

** Rodarian**_: !! I GOT YOUR TRISH COMMENT ON THAT POSTER IN!! _:D_ But it might not be as you pictured it…__…as you mentioned that 'you were evil'. NO YOU'RE NOT EVIL!! __ You eat ice cream, so you're sweet _:D__

** Ryn ****Temple**_: Your name is very, attractive. Anyhoo, I'm glad you liked it! I hope this chapter doesn't bore you _o__

** You-Can't-Fool-Me**_:…you signed in just to comment? Did you know you didn't have to sign in? How in the _Underworld_ did you find me?! __I've been playing _DMC2_ nonstop because of you…and playing with the Dante action figure..._

_**Anyhoo**, there's been a lot going along, hence my delay. I had to clear my computer from some Adware threats_ :D_. My mom thinks FF.N gives the computer viruses, so I couldn't go on . I got into a big fight with my sister (it's linked to our computer 'viruses'; she was downloading songs when I thought she was helping me find the addresseso!!), so I brooded for a day. Finally, my B-day came and my friends wanted me out of the house…and Y-C-F-M got me DMC2!! So I was playing my heart out . It's so easy, though…what a disappointment. I think the only hard thing in the game is to get a stylish mark…mainly because the enemies die only in 2 slashes…I still think it's fun, though._

**References In The Story:**

_ If you wonderful people watched the _DMCX_ (I'll just call it_ [DMC3]_ that, since it's a preview of _DMC_) trailer, you'll see Dante punching his jukebox! So I thought _DMC_ should have a memento of that event…since Dante already did this before _DMC_._

_ In _DMC_, the Poster girl had stars on her. In _DMC2_, she had a bikini on. This chapter explains why._

_ Also, I was thinking of Inuyasha, and he has white hair (close enough to Dante's silver), and they're both half demon, hence the 'dog' references._

_**Whoa**, I wasted at least 5 mins. of your life Time for storytime! Oh yeah...this story's longer than usual to make up for my delay._

_DMC's Capcom's!_

* * *

****

** CHAPTER 10: The Bikini**

Trish collapsed on Dante's worn chair . She was true to her word; she had killed all the remaining three Shadows. However, her limbs were shaking slightly from the exertion of wielding the Sparda sword. She had a feeling that the next morning her whole body would be aching. She still couldn't believe how much strength her 'period' sapped from her; once she and Dante sparred furiously for five hours straight, and she escaped with only a minor tingle in her limbs the day after. And now, after only killing four Shadows, her body was feeling the fruits of her labour. She could hardly get up. Why?!

The female devil decided to not dwell on such things now; she should not let herself get uptight. Instead, she let her eyes roam lazily over Dante's meager furnishings. Big mahogany desk…several old wooden chairs…boxes of half-eaten cold pizza…a drum set…a chipped phone…several pieces of paper on the bare, wooden floor…

In short, a pretty gloomy sort of place. A rug or some plants would do wonders.

The walls weren't much better. On the furthest left, adjourning wall to the front doors, there was a big black patch of charred wood. Dante told her that there used to be a colourful jukebox there, but it didn't work when he wanted it to; besides, he had a demon blade in his left arm then, and his temper just exploded. He punched it, and it exploded as well. End of story. He was a very pissed off teenager.

Trish's eyes then lighted on the smelly heads of werewolves (in different stages of decomposition), masks of sin scythes, death scythes and death scissors skulls…

Trish sighed. She once attempted to scrub off the blood (she had seen some white things crawling around in the liquid; it wasn't exactly appetizing watching them squiggle while choking down a daily dose of pizza). Unfortunately, the work didn't do any good: Dante would come in and stick a new head on the wall.

Finally, Woozy. Not Woozy any more; now the Sparda sword. Unofficially, her sword. It hung precariously parallel to the floor on the pegs meant for a smaller sword (Sparda _was_ three times the size of Woozy). It almost completely hid the poster of the girl beneath it.

_The girl_.

Something strange twisted Trish's stomach. She wearily lifted herself up and walked over to lift Sparda off its stand, muscles complaining at lifting the sword again. The action revealed the poster of a beautiful woman, right eye moist with want, eye patch over the left. Cascading locks of blonde hair tumbled over slim shoulders. A rocket in the background painted her skin golden. And finally, two small black stars barely concealing her voluptuous curves. A flame of heat rose to Trish's cheeks, and an unconscious frown appeared on her full lips as she examined the picture.

It was perfectly explainable that Dante should have posters of women on his walls…in fact, she should be counting her lucky stars that he didn't put up posters of entirely naked women. But still---this teasing poster of the barely-clad female infuriated her..._really_ bugged her in some way…

An alien rush of possessiveness filled her innards.

Just then, Dante entered the room with 2 glasses of iced water. One silver eyebrow rose, the only indication that he was somewhat surprised to see Trish where she was.

Trish spun around, sensing his presence. She was immediately embarrassed at her being caught staring at the sensuous poster. She hated the feeling of her cheeks burning…it was easier being a devil, where such signs of embarrassment were virtually impossible to detect.

"Water?" She asked teasingly, to divert his attention away from her. She crossed the room casually but quickly, and plopped herself down in his chair again.

"Ran out of red wine," Dante replied. "Didn't get a chance to stock up." He tried to push her out of her chair.

The female looked up at him, and grinned devilishly. She raised her hands, equipped with wicked sharp fingernails. Some yellow sparks buzzed out.

Dante instantly moved away. It was not because of her playful threat, but because he caught the exhausted sheen in her eyes, as well as a faint smudge of black under each eye. Raising his hands in mock defeat, he sat down on the floor, next to her. She tousled his hair.

He growled.

She stopped.

Silence.

Dante took a sip of his water. Savage thirst suddenly rose, and he wolfed it all down. The iciness of the water left him with a slight throbbing in his left temple, but it was pleasant, in a way. "Only water's good after a workout," he said noncommittally. He turned to speak to Trish. "You better drink, Trish. In your condition, you dehydrate fairly quickly."

Silence.

The demon hunter realized that there was something bothering Trish. After a prolonged bout of silence, she said, "I _know_. I'm just waiting for it to…to warm up." Abruptly, she got up, and walked over to the Rocket Poster, confirming Dante's hunch.

"Um, Dante." A statement. No need to answer it.

He did, anyways. "Yea?"

"This poster…" Trish hesitated.

"Yea?"

"It's kinda…um, kinda strange for me to see it. Too showy. Would it be okay to take it down?"

"Hell, no," Dante's tone was firm. "I like her. She's my rocket girl."

More silence. Trish's back was facing him, her hair shielding her face. But his sense of infrared told him that her cheeks and ears were warmer than the rest of her body. He let out a groan as he lifted himself up from the floor.

When Dante was standing next to Trish, he took a long look at the poster, then turned to the female devil.

"I like her because she looks just like you. 'Fact, I didn't even look at her much 'till you came."

Trish spun around, startled at his words. She desperately searched for an excuse to cover up the sudden swell of feeling in her. All she managed to blurt out was, "She has an eyepatch! She doesn't look like me."

"We could give you an eyepatch, and---" The halfling grinned, and pulled out a black marker from his coat, "---make her top like yours."

"No!" Trish tried to grab the marker from him. She failed. She was 6'2, the same height as he. Her heels would make her two inches taller, but they were kicked haphazardly around the room, and she was too tired to gather them up and put them on. That, and the fact that he was a bit faster than she was: his right arm was a mere blurry cloud in the air.

"What, Trish?" the half-demon teased. "Thought you wanted to make her a bit more modest?"

"But not like me! Compromise?"

"Fine."

"…Bikini?"

"Deal. For you, babe."

The half-man carefully drew a smooth, rounded bikini top over the poster girl. No strings, of course. When he was finished, they both stood back, admiring his artistic modifications.

"Good work," Trish said. The little coverup and connecting the stars did wonders, and it eased her aching heart. The poster girl looked as though she had never worn anything but the bikini top. Now that the matter bothering her was fixed, she was ready to fall asleep. Her eyelids kept dropping down, another strange experience, aside from dreams. When she was a full-blooded devil, under Mundus' service, she slept with her eyes open, if she did sleep. Rest was unnecessary for devils; their energy came from others. Therefore, shallow naps were required to protect oneself from ambushing hungry enemies.

Now, she was sleepy more frequently (she used to go on hunting trips in the wee hours of morning during peaceful times, or whenever Dante was sleeping himself), and her slumber was far more deep, with vivid images (REM, Dante explained to her). Additionally, the less she slept, the more she wanted to sleep. And the more she slept, the more she wanted to sleep.

Dante was saying something. Trish blinked rapidly. "…Pardon?"

"I said, I practice doodling from time to time, of the places I visited. That's why I carry that notebook with me."

"Oh." Trish closed her eyes.

Dante glanced at her, and saw that she had fallen asleep standing. Amused, he experimentally touched her cheek. She did not react. Satisfied that she was deeply asleep, he inched forward, and whispered in her ear: "What I said about that girl and you, was completely true."

The halfling was disturbed to feel his cheeks colouring. With that, he swept her in his arms, proceeding to carry her to her room, where she could sleep properly.

* * *

Dante laid Trish gently on her bed, and tenderly tucked her in. He could not deny the affection he felt for her (he would never admit that to anyone, though), and made a mental note to himself that he should watch her sleep occasionally; she was so innocent looking when she slept, and it was rare to see her so peaceful.

"Goodnight, Trish," he whispered to her, and kissed her softly on the forehead. As he shut the door behind him, he rubbed his lips, then his hands on his pants. There was something on them. Frowning, he raised his hands to his face.

Dante was aghast to see bits of skin stuck on his own.

* * *

That night, Trish dreamed she was melting, again.


	11. Connection

**Author's Note**: _Hey everybody! I thank you guys for all your support! So here's another little chapter :p. Hehe, remember the dream Trish mentioned in the previous chapters (I forget which)? Here's the description of it. _

_ Oh, if anyone doesn't quite get what Dante and Trish are talking about here, please don't hesitate to contact me at my e-mail. I had to make this chapter sound as though they were thinking the same thing, on the same track of mind, so I kinda made them interrupt each other as ideas flowed in. _

_ Welcome, _**Scarbie**_ and_ **Magnificent Kiwi**_! I hope I've been living up to your tastes ;)._

_ Hopefully, people will enjoy this chapter. Oh yes, a bit o' swearing here..._

_ DMC's Capcom's._

_

* * *

_

**CHAPTER 11: CONNECTION**

The skin thing really bothered Dante. Where had it come from? And he wasn't even sure if it was skin. The flesh-coloured lining seemed to melt away before his eyes. It did not produce any heat, or even smoke; it just seemed to dissipate.

He looked up into the chipped, yellow mirror of the bathroom he had frantically ran into. (There were things that freaked Dante out; but he only displayed them when nobody was around to see him). He scrubbed his lips and hands thoroughly with soap, then rubbing alcohol, to kill any microscopic specimens. An involuntary shudder ran down his spine.

Skin! Where had it come from? How come he didn't notice it until after---after he---

_ Trish!_

Dante immediately ran to Trish's room.

* * *

_ Trish was floating in nothingness. She saw a dazzling light, and a burst of white feathers fell gently from above her, encasing her body, tickling her, giving her strength._

_ But this strength she felt…_

_ She did not like it. It felt dark. Horribly dark. She shuddered violently in revulsion, and thrashed in the air, refusing to be in contact with them any longer._

_ "No!" She choked. "No, please! I do not want it."_

_ The feathers, as if sensing her resistance, suddenly transformed into stone. They had uneven, jagged edges, and each slowly turned their sharpest edges to her, aiming for her heart…_

_ "I do not want it! I do not want it!" It was all Trish could say, over and over, chanting the words as if they were protective sacred prayers. She raised her hands defensively to protect herself, just as the yellowish stone feathers began their descent. No, her defensive posture was futile: the stones would rip through her hands, and slash her up. One crystal tear squeezed out from each eye._

_ The tears, amazingly, floated away from her face. They levitated in the air, spinning, spinning, until the small tiny orbs released another light, this one so pure and white. There was no sound at all, curiously mute, as the white light enveloped the feathers. They were shattered into many, many small pieces. And still no sound._

_ Trish felt her feet touch ground the instant the feathers splintered. At the same time, almost instantly, she felt her energy give out, and she collapsed on the floor. _

_ "H-hey!"_

_ Trish tried to get up. Instead, her limbs would not respond. She felt oddly sleepy. She felt her strength further ebb out with each beat of her heart, which it itself was beating slower and slower. It was then she realized that the feathers were supporting her life. Now that they were gone, she had no chance of living…_

_ Something red moved in her blurred line of vision. Two gloved hands casually scooped her up, sharing their warmth with her, placing her into equally warm and strong arms._

_ But despite this new source of strength, she could not carry on any longer…she felt herself shrinking…_

_ A tingling. She forced her eyes to focus on herself. It was then she realized that no, she was not shrinking; instead, she was melting. She saw her skin peel away slowly, and dissipate into the air without a trace. There was no pain; only a slight warmth from where the arms held her. _

_ Trish sighed. Those strong, toned arms. If she could die in these arms, she would remain happy forever. Her eyes closed. She was prepared to die._

_ A gruff male voice. "No way in hell are you gonna give up yet, Trish! There's so much we can do together..."_

_ Trish felt herself being put back to the hard, cold ground, the human hands realeasing their hold on her. A sound of skin ripping._

_ Her eyes peered open just as a flood of red splash onto her face. Her mouth opened instinctively, and the thick crimson liquid filled her mouth. It was sweet…so sweet. And rich.. and tart. Oh god…the delicious nectar of life…she swallowed. Her whole body seemed to vibrate with each luscious swallow, eager for more. Her eyes closed in ecstasy, and power surged through every vein in her body._

_ The woman's body arched uncontrollably, and the tingling subsided. What great power…_

_ "Trish…" _

_ Her eyes opened slowly…_

_ Trish! Look at me, now," the male voice, now gruff with relief, commanded her._

_ She looked…_

…Right into the face of Dante. "Oh!" she squeaked, surprised. Initial surprise changed to anger. "What in the Underworld are you doing here?" she furiously asked, embarrassed of the formidable man being in her room.

"Trish, thank god, I thought you'd never wake up. I called your name so many times…" Dante's voice trailed off.

It was then Trish saw that he was truly concerned. His hair was boyishly disheveled, and on the floor, his boots had made black skid marks. "Dante, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong?! How could you not have noticed it?" Dante's sudden outburst was startling, and while the female devil was stunned, he grabbed, desperately, but gently, both her wrists. "How could you have not? Damn…"

Trish saw that the skin on her wrists was peeling off, despite Dante's careful touch. Her blue eyes widened. "Holy shit…"

* * *

_…No, she was not shrinking; instead, she was melting. She saw her skin peel away slowly, and dissipate into the air without a trace._

* * *

The memory of her dream flashed briefly through her mind, burning a hole. "Oh my god…"

"I'm gonna look through mom and dad's library," Dante announced. "There has to be a way to stop your … your condition."

"Wait, Dante!" Trish was suddenly desperate to tell him of her nightly dream. It must play a key aspect in this situatiojn, due to the uncanny resemblance with her state. Suddenly, the events all became clear to her. "I have a dream to tell you."

After a detailed summary, Dante had to ask her, "So you've been having this dream ever since three months ago?" A nod. "First, you didn't dream of it often, but later on, it became more frequent?" Another nod, this time more timid, because of the slight rise in Dante's voice.

"But Dante, in the dreams before, I only dreamed I was melting. And the voice." Trish stopped to think. "I've never had the part where I was falling, or the feathers, or when I was… crying."

Dante looked deep into her eyes. "Trish, do you think---?"

Trish nodded. "It makes complete sense. The stone feathers, supplying me with the evil strength …"

"Mundus." Dante reminiscenced the fight he had with the godly tyrant, of his magnificent feathers made of stone. "His evil…in the form of feathers."

"And when I refused to accept his power---"

"He turned against you. And those two tears…" Dante smiled. "Trish, you know devils never cry."

Silence. Trish's only answer was a dry grin.

Dante continued, "You betrayed him with those tears, and freed yourself. It's official, now, Trish. You're no longer under the power of Mundus."

"Then that explains the m-melting…I was created by him, and depended on him to power my life. Now that he's gone through your portal, his power is so removed from me… Dante, I---" Trish struggled with the words. She could not say anymore. "There's no hope…" She dragged her legs up to her chin, and curled her arms around them. Her arms now glistened red, from the lack of skin. Her eyes shut tight, refusing to see the horror she was transforming into.

"No way. Don't ever talk like that, Trish." Dante's ice blue eyes went steely. "I have an idea from the last part in your dream. And I'm going to make good use of it. Don't move. I think, in a situation like this, only white magic is capable of helping you."

The demon hunter got up from the be, and cooly pushed back sliver locks. "Don't worry about this stuff." He offered her a grin, though his own heart was weighed down with concern. Would his mother's books be able to help him save the only person who mattered to him now?

Trish looked up. She was surprised when Dante bent down again. He gently wiped tears off her cheek, tears she didn't even know she was making.

Dante leaped up again, and dashed to the door frame. Before he turned and left, he repeated: "Devils never cry." The halfling smirked. "I think it's time we made that saying concrete."


	12. Search

**Author's note**: _Alright, guys…this chapter is just a little quickie between action...it's a bit dull, so I don't mind you not reading this. I mean, it's THAT dull. It bored ME to tears (and I'm the author!)._

_I would like to give a hug to all my nice reviewers for sticking this far with me…GROUP HUGGIE!_

_Sigh…apologies for the wait…..for the pathetic chapter…_

_No excuses this time….unless finishing DMC2 counts!_

_Note: For some reason, even my 8-spaces-of-the-Tab button doesn't work :(...so no indentation today. Argh. What a disapointment...(even Phantom agrees!)_

_DMC's Cappie's!!_

* * *

****

..........................................................**CHAPTER 12: Search**.........................................................

As the overhead lights flickered, Dante's eyes skimmed though book after book, fingers hastily turning pages. Although he did gain several hints from Trish's dream (and thus having a vague view of what he was supposed to do), he did not know which particular spell he was looking for. He only knew that it required white magic.

Perspiration beaded his forehead. His eyes flashed impatiently as spells zipped past his vision. Despite the growing heap of books behind him, he could not find the right spell. Although each incantation held the possibility that it could help Trish, his gut told him to keep searching. It was better to do things well the first time, than to do things more than once.

His silver bangs stuck up awkwardly, because his fingers were constantly combing them back. They were held tentatively together from the force of gravity, with a minute amount of sweat. The room, albeit quite large, was stacked so fully with old, dusty tomes, so that the library gave off a stuffed, cluttered appearance. Despite that it was directly underneath the office of Devil Never Cry (therefore, cooled by the ground), it had no windows. The result was a dry, suffocating atmosphere.

Dante, legs crossed, leaned back from the clump of books he had carelessly tossed to the floor. Even treated in this fashion, the tomes did not suffer any damage; they each contained a little magic to keep them from decaying. Though Dante knew this fact, he did not toss them purposely. It was his haste that did so. There were so many books to look through…

The demon hunter leaned back and stretched a bit, relishing the delightful tightening of his firm muscles. Cramps tamed for a while, he rest his head in both hands, elbows on his knees. An open book lay on his lap, briefly forgotten. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

A bead of perspiration ran down, and quivered on the tip of his nose. It hung there for a few seconds, glistening dully and half opaque in the weak, thin light, before it splashed to the page blow. A sapphirine light, in the shape of a hemisphere, rose from the book. The light met the drop, still in its mid-fall, and obliterated it into tiny droplets.

"Come on, come on," Dante murmured under his breath. Perhaps the spell would reveal itself, if he concentrated hard enough. There were just too many books…

Dante cursed himself for neglecting to read his parents' books more often, especially books pertaining to white magic. He himself preferred to research on black magic. It was the best way to defeat enemies: since they dabbled only in the dark arts, they could not surprise him with such tricks, if he, too, was well-trained in such. To defeat an enemy, one must be prepared to counterattack any moves. To be prepared, one must have the same knowledge as the enemy.

The halfling opened his eyes, just as another drop fell. Fascinated, he watched the book's repulsion.

"Trish is like this drop," he muttered to himself. "She's cut off from Mundus. The book, which in this case is the atmosphere, is gradually scattering her away."

He raised his hands, and gently traced the wording of the book. _I can touch this book without deflection, because I am one being_, he thought. _However, Trish is not. At least, not anymore. Since she is only a creation, she must be a part of something to survive in this world…_

_I need a transformation book…_Dante realized. This little fact known, he concentrated feverishly. Now, using his minor telekinesis, he sought the needed book. He felt his face go steadily go red with the exertion. More tiny beads of moisture dotted his face. His body trembled slightly.

Just as he thought he could concentrate no more, there was a _clunk,_ from the end of the room.

"Aha"! Dante roared, triumphant. He leaped up, shaking his bangs from his eyes. He could feel a massive headache brewing. "Man, I need to work on my skills." The half-demon made a bee-line to where the sound had emitted, where he saw that there were _two_ books on the floor. One was titled: Smudging. The other_, Angeli e Diavoli: i rituali di trasformazione_.

After briefly examining the two, he realized that the first book contained spells of protection and healing. The other had the chant required to transform Trish. Despite the greater importance of the second, Dante knew that the transformation spell could not work without some kind of warding spell. The energy output (and the "ingredients" it demanded) of the transformation spell required would attract many demons. And if he spent all his time battling evilies, he might not be able perform the ritual in time to save Trish.

But there was a problem: the lack of ingredients used for the warding spell…

Dante sighed. He would have to leave Trish alone for a while.

* * *

Trish was sitting on her bed when Dante suddenly slammed the door open. "Trish," he blurt out, "I have to go shopping now." 

Trish was bewildered. "Shopping? But why---"

"Sorry, no time, babe. If any demons come your way," here Dante threw a cardboard box on her bed, just barely missing her left foot, "use these, okay?"

Dante suddenly narrowed his eyes at her, solemnly drinking up her condition. After a moment, he tossed the Sparda sword at her (thankfully she caught it in time). "And if you run out, use this. No matter what, don't use physical strength first. We don't know how exertion will affect you."

With that, he spun around, and was gone.

Trish peered into the box, and saw approximately seven holy stars: their whole collection. She could only smile at his caring, yet clumsy attempt of making sure she had what she needed.

"A lucky number," she whispered to herself.


	13. Fight to the End

**AN**: _Hihi! Another hug to my reviewers! Oy…I realized that my chapters are getting longer…eep! And worse quality: this chapter….I just wrote it out… But I still worked hard!_

_Oh! _**BloodyDemonEmpress**_: I made Dante have a bit of telekinesis. Cuz it's possible for demons to have it all, ne? Unfortunately, Dante doesn't work on this skill, so he has extreme difficulties with it._

**Burryk**_: STOP IT!! Your ficcy's great! Hey everyone, READ BURRY'S FANFIC! It has LOTS more action than mine! Dyne is HOT. Oh, burryk…by the way….the review section's not working for me …_

_This chapter has lots of action :D, so dearest people who don't like action, wait for the next chappy, where there'll be magic! And perhaps some romance…hehe…I honestly don't know…I don't have a manuscript._

_Oh, and please please someone show me how to indent ...the indent key always indents the whole paragraph. Since I can't use the 8-spaces-magic, I've decided to use a new format. _**PLEASE**_ TELL ME IF IT'S BETTER FOR YOU, OR NAY._

_Anyhoo, here's a glossary for those who are not familiar with sword terms:_

**Edge**: the cutting part of a sword's blade

**Grip**: where one holds the sword

**Point**: the tip of the sword's blade.

**Voiding**: slipping back the leg when striking

**Ooh! DMC'S Capcom's!**

****

* * *

****

..................................................**CHAPTER 13: Fight to the End**...................................................

Trish sat on the bed where Dante left her. She impatiently pushed back honey-coloured hair, thoroughly bored. Dante told her to conserve her energy, but she felt fine, aside from the melting part.

She was pleasantly surprised to see that her hair had very few split-ends, after only five months on the Surface world. In the Underworld, where it was perpetually hot and dry, hair in bad condition was fairly common. Mussing over the strands for a while occupied up a bit of her time.

After splitting whatever damaged hair follicles she could find, she leaned back against the bed post. She wished she could do something to slow down her condition, or help Dante with his 'shopping'.

A slight tapping on her window caught her ears. It was raining. And it was dark out. Ignoring Dante's orders to remain as still as possible, Trish got up and walked over to the window. The obsidian blanket of night seemed to hide all buildings and forms of life from her view. She watched each drop splash against the pane, and pressed her burning cheeks against them. When she lifted her face away, a bit of her was stuck on the window. She hastily pulled away. Thankfully, it melted away to nothingness.

Trish shuddered in disgust. "Rule number one," she said to herself, "Don't come in contact with any objects."

She spent another few minutes uselessly watching raindrops run down the pane. "One on the right wins," she gambled. "Bet on Dante's pizza."

Finally exhausting her sources of entertainment, Trish retired back to the bed. Of course, she could always go down to the 'living room' and watch TV, but Dante could come back at any second; if he caught her lounging around...

The woman decided not to risk Dante's wrath. _Oh, I wish there were something to do_!

Her wish came in the form of broken glass. Just as she slumped her head forward in tedium, the flimsy single pane shattered into many sharp pieces. A piercing shriek emitted from the source of the damage, and Trish found herself suspended clumsily in mid-air, marionette style.

"There's an advantage to this condition," Trish smirked. With a twist of her wrists, she managed to slide through the invisible magical strings. "Disgusting, but at least it doesn't hurt!"

Trish leaped down, and crouched low the instant she touched the bed. Using her leg muscles to propel her back up, she grabbed the hanging light on the ceiling just long enough to gain enough momentum to make a pendulum movement, hitting a green marionette full in its chest just as it materialized from an evil red circle of runes.

"I can lick your asses anytime," Trish boasted, grabbing Sparda and twirling clockwise defensively, blade out, to meet her enemies. She stomped heavily over the fallen marionette, ignoring it for the time being. Instead, she aimed the point of her sword at the marionette who initiated the burglar entrance. She lunged, her left foot voiding for balance. As she sliced through the wood, she became conscious of the double meaning in her words. "_Neve_r mind! I'd get slivers in my tongue!" A roundhouse slash above, followed by a slash from below, cut the puppet into three whole pieces.

"You'd think these low-class spirits'll quit using Pinocchio as their vessel!" Trish chattered to herself, amid the fury of steel, wood, and flesh. She felt her energy reviving a bit, as she leeched off her enemies' energies with every 'kill'. Red portals started appearing. Soon, the small room had three new visitors, each decked out in colourful outfits.

"Hey," she exclaimed cheerfully, eyeing the blood running down the walls, and over the floor. "Blood. Liquid. Salt. Electricity time!" Her free left hand shot out a bolt.

"But then again, wood is a conductor," she observed, as the advance of the marionettes did not cease. The hanging light flickered once, twice. _Oops_, Trish thought. _I have to be careful not to blow the fuse_.

Dodging several awkwardly aimed blades, Trish leapt high in the air, and slashed viciously downward on a red marionette's head. Unfortunately, it was right then her hands started to go slippery. Her point of equilibrium disrupted, the heavy Sparda sword clattered to the floor, with her falling right next to it. She landed on her back, but did not manage to leap back up, due to the slippery blood on the floor.

A roar. "Huh?" She inquired softly, almost childishly. She looked up. Towering over her was the red marionette. An evil smile spread over its wooden features. Its blades gleamed wickedly in the light.

The female did not give it a chance to raise its curved blades. She promptly kicked it on its shin. As its knees wobbled, she simultaneously groped for her sword as she bounded up violently, exerting a tremendous strain on her sword arm. Sword pointed skywards, she managed to tear the thing apart, from between its legs, through its head. The wood dispelled into a cluster of red orbs.

Without losing a beat, she used her remaining momentum to cartwheel-kick a blue marionette directly behind it. A golden glint from its side caught her eye. This one had a sawed-off shotgun! She was extremely lucky that marionettes were fairly slow creatures, and that it did not use the weapon on her when she was distracted. It crashed onto the floor. As it lay there flat on its back, she straddled it, grabbed Sparda's grip with both hands, and stabbed downward hard, through its neck.

Just in time, as well: her strength was now evaporating rapidly. There were only two other marionettes in her room. From her peripheral vision, she noted the absence of the red runes; they had stopped transporting.

"They always attack me when I'm weak," Trish complained as she jumped up. Her body felt extremely numb now, and she couldn't bear looking upon herself. "Just let me finish," she grumbled, her hands having difficulty grasping the grip. "Two more…"

With an animal yell, she charged, sword held at her side. Suddenly all she heard was a twirling sound. _Shoot_! Was all her brain could register, before her body automatically dodged to the side. A trail of curved blades followed in her wake.

Scowling, Trish grabbed the nearest scimitar-like blade, and flung it back. The green jester staggered back, blade in chest. Just in time, it stepped in front of the other marionette, and was shot to pieces. Trish's eyes widened at her second stroke of luck.

"One's easy," She huffed. She could feel a bit of dampness now; her body was trembling from the icy coldness enveloping her limbs. She felt like taking a long nap.

_But not now_, she commanded herself. She bit her lip, feeling it dissolve gradually. _Yes, not yet_. She ran full speed ahead, once more. Every time she heard the tell-tale twirl, she dodged sideways, or up. Finally, she was (almost) face to face with the puppet.

"Bye-bye," was the last thing it heard, before the female devil drove Sparda's edge completely through it.

Danger finally gone, Trish's knees crumbled. She fell to the wooden floor, energy completely spent. She tried to raise her limbs, to no avail.

"Just like…dream," she murmured, before she blacked out.


	14. Finally Human

**AN**: _long time no update. Mainly because my mom's too paranoid, and wouldn't let me go online, so I hafta sneak down to write this story. Also, university's coming up for me._

_Welcome,_ Lunatic Pandora1,**Karaoke Risa, hermisia**_! Thank you so much for reviewing my story! And welcome back, veteran readers (hehe,_ **Aya Yuy P.SII**_!) **ALL** you guys make my day! I don't know how to express my gratitude..._

Onward! **DMC'S Capcom's!**

****

* * *

**CHAPTER 14: FINALLY HUMAN**

As Dante stepped through the front door, his demon senses told him that something was amiss. Alarm settled over him, tensing his body. Without further wasting a moment, he leaped up the stairs to Trish's room.

A torrent of crimson orbs greeted him as the door slammed open. As if in mock imitation of a séance, they twirled and winked and danced above a motionless body, lying on the cold wooden floor.

"Trish," Dante murmured under his breath. He quickly began to move to her side, when something brown caught his eye.

It was the box of Holy Stars.

_One...two...three..._

Dante mentally counted, and cursed. All seven Stars were intact. It was obvious they were carelessly thrown off the bed. Blood-stained Sparda further solidified his suspicions.

"Disobedient little wench!" He barked at the unconscious form.

The half-demon kept his anger in check, and scooped up the female. Despite the urge to dump her onto the bed, he told himself that now was not the time for harsh handling.

_Time to start the cleansing and warding ceremony_.

The one he was about to do was not directly connected to the second ceremony he would perform, but it was extremely vital. The warding would keep certain 'distractions' from disrupting the more important ritual. Additionally, gut feeling told that after all this was finished, most of his energy would be sucked up, and he would be very, very weak. Defenseless.

The halfling placed 5 white candles around Trish's black-clad body and lit them. The flames danced, making shadows leap upon Trish's unusally pale skin. He began taking out some ingredients, one by one, from the yellowed Safeway bag (the native told him that everything was good and reusable).

First, S Apiana...otherwise known as "White Sage." Now extremely vital to Dante. White Sage was used to drive out evil spirits and negative thoughts and feelings, and, most importantly, to keep Gan'n (negative entities, as the elderly Native told him) from where a ceremony was taking place.

A bit of Thuja Occidentalis, otherwise know as Western Red Cedar. A purifier. The reason of using this was to draw good energy in his direction. Dante had a feeling that he needed help.

Dante took out a brazier and some sweet grass, and began the process of smudging. He shaved little bits of it and burned them into charcoal. He tied the White Sage and the Western Red Cedar together with some white thread, and cut them into shavings. With that, he carefully burned those as well, and placed the brazier next to Trish. He directed the healing smoke towards her body with his hands, and saw her aura.

It was not good.

He saw that it was all black (except where it was a bit healthier gray where the smoke slowed down the disintegrating process), and knew instantly he had to begin the second ceremony. It seemed to be less complicated than the first, but knew that it would be far more taxing.

Picking up one of his personal books, he flipped through the yellowed pages and found the passage he wanted. He picked up a beautiful silver dagger, its blade sharp as a razor, specifically made for slashing through skin.

And he began chanting:

_Qui riuniamo, tutti gli alcoolici testimoniano il rebirth. Elimini l'inceppo l'anima di questa donna prima di me. Liberila dal suo padrone. Expell che lei da sua lega. Goddess santo dell'OH di curatio, guardi sopra noi come liberiamo i legami. Puliscala, guar._

_Accetti l'anima della miniera come la nuova fonte di alimentazione. Dò la mia anima. ORA!!_

Just as he shouted the last word, _ORA_, the candles flickered low. He deftly sliced his left wrist with the wicked dagger, and firmly pressed the flesh against Trish's open mouth as dark blood violently spurted out.

_Something_ happened, and it forced Dante to scream out aloud. He could feel his soul splitting, could feel his body burning. He felt as if he were being consumed by his _very being_...there was no way to describe the agony. His right hand curled into a claw. Veins in his neck stuck out in cords. His head tilted back, damp, shaggy bangs falling from his face, exposing the excruciation painted on his face. He uttered a long cry, an animal cry of suffering. And now...

Dante now could feel white light pulsing with every beat of his heart, traveling downwards quickly, like how air was sucked out to make a vacuum. The light shined through places where Trish's mouth did not meet his wrist. Brilliant, dazzling, awful, beautiful...

_This is... _Dante thought wearily, _part of my soul..._

Twin streams of blood flowed from both sides of Trish's mouth as the ebb flowed unnaturally faster. And then it abruptly stopped.

He could barely think anymore. His body felt locked down, and his wrist limply slid away. Though his body healed at a fairly rapid rate (in fact, the deep cut had already formed scar tissue; in another hour the tissue itself would be completely gone), the taxing ceremony had sapped all of his strength, thus slowing the healing process. He slumped over Trish's body.

Already he could feel her solidifying properly. Good. His pure, healing demon blood would fully fix any damage done to her body, before it dissolved in the chemicals in her body, and together the new compounds and chemical compositions in her body would turn her into a full human being, no different from any other.

Finally content, Dante's fevered eyes unfocused, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

That night, for once, he didn't dream of his mother; he didn't dream at all.

* * *

**AN**: _Translation of the Italian (I couldn't find any latin, heh...):_

Here we gather, all the spirits witness the rebirth. Purge the blood of this woman before me. Free her from her master. Expell her from his bonds. Oh holy Goddess of Healing, watch over us as we release the ties. Cleanse her, heal her.

Accept mine blood as the new source of power. I give my soul. NOW!

_Note: I used a machine translator. Italian-fluent people, please help? :D_

_Okay, people :D. I know it's impossible for people to sleep deeply without dreaming, I just added the last part for drama, haha!_

_Oh yes_, **anarchy-munkey**_, you can do whatever with my story. Everyone else, too, as long as you notify me first!! :D._


	15. Calm

**AN**: _Just wanted to say that this story isn't finished until it says "completed" on the preview. Warning: **TrishxDante**! _

_And: parents disliking me "writing stuff" when I should be studying calculus. AARGH! So please be patient with the next chapter; I'm prepping for university..._

_I' m predicting...4 or 5 more left ._

_DMC's Capcom's!_

_

* * *

_

---------------------------------------------------------**CHAPTER 15: Calm**-------------------------------------------------------------------

Weak light crept across the bedroom floor, silent but steady. Sign of a new day.

_Mmm_, Trish hummed lazily, just as the light hit her eyelids. She tried to roll away.

And found she couldn't.

Irritation furrowed her eyebrows, and her lips parted in a sigh. Eyes slowly opened to reveal a blurry world. The light viciously attacked still-cloudy blue orbs, forcing Trish to blink rapidly several times, nose wrinkling up a bit.

The woman tensed her body, feeling something warm pressing against her chest, making it slightly hard to breathe, restricting her ability to move. Her eyes suddenly cleared, and she sucked in a large lungful of air. Her chest did not rise as freely. She craned her neck forwards a bit, and was rewarded with the sight of silver hair, with a glimpse of an ear on top.

_Dante_! Instantly all her senses were on full alert. She was unsure of what to do. Her breaths now came in tiny pants; his head was resting right on top of her breasts! A tinge of rouge blossomed on her cheeks as the observation dawned on her.

Dante's straight nose was nestled perfectly in the valley between her bosom. His steady, slow breathing tickled her bare skin, where her flimsy leather top didn't quite cover her. She could feel moisture gathering there, and her damp skin further warmed with...

With what? Embarrassment?

Trish slowly closed her eyes again, not wanting to move. Every detail seemed to burn through her mind:

The cool calmness of the morning. Crisp white sheets. Early, weak light illuminating her bed, illuminating them. The way Dante's soft breath caressed her sensitive skin, the discovery that his hair was oh so silky against her, the way his lips (no matter how unintentional) were barely brushing the top of her left breast, a ghost of a touch.

But then, other details started to demand equal attention. She noticed maroon and brown splatters of blood on the sheets. The same substance caked the sides of her mouth, tightening her skin whenever her face moved a bit. The coppery smell hung thick in her nose. And finally, the ache of Dante's shoulder bone jammed on top of her left arm, which was feeling horribly numb and bloated from the elbow down. She was amazed by the weight of head, as well.

Slowly, Trish propped herself up, and Dante's head slid down, drawing a startled gasp from her. Quickly, she stopped the descent with both hands, and turned his head to face her. She gently laid his head on her lap.

All of a sudden, she was overwhelmed by this man. She barely touched his right ear, fascinated by the fragile flesh. How easily she could nip it off! And yet here slept the strongest male she had ever encountered.

Next, she traced the strong jaw. She tilted her head a bit, inadvertently causing long, thin tresses of hair to brush Dante's skin. Her golden locks glowed pale in the watery morning light.

The lips. They were softer, fuller than she expected them to be. She supposed that his lips were often pressed together from that constant smirk on his face, hiding their sensuality.

The perfect Roman nose. If it were ever broken, she couldn't tell.

The closed eyes...framed with long lashes. She wondered what he was dreaming about. And slowly, she stroked his cheek, wondering what the hell she was doing, and why she felt so mesmerized by him.

She wished that this moment in time could last forever, with all its marvelous sensations. Just the two of them, on top of sun-kissed cool sheets, time running at a lazy pace, with a hint of fatigue just hovering around.

A slight stir. A feeble groan. Trish watched as Dante's eyes fluttered, and opened.

"Babe...?" He asked, his words thick with drowsiness. A limp smile. "Yew look o-kay," he slurred, as he wearily propped himself up with his hands.

"Thank you, Dante," Trish whispered.

"Happy birthday," The half demon replied. He vigorously shook his head, and seemed more alert. "Trish! How do you feel?"

"Fine. Except...What's this birthday thing?"

Dante grinned. "Hey there, human."

Trish froze. _Human_...?

Then: _Human. Yes. How else could I have survived?_

She smiled, and then suddenly winced. Something horrible was happening to her left arm! It felt as if a million tiny Shadows were impaling her arm, repetitively, simultaneously. "There's something happening to my arm!" she frantically cried, unable to bear the sudden burst of sensation. Itchy, tingling, burning, freezing, and something like, but not pain itself, all swirling furiously in her limb.

Dante looked alarmed. "What? I don't sense anything wrong with you."

Then his eyes narrowed, and a hint of a smile appeared on his lips. "Were there anything lying on your arm, or---?"

"Yea," Trish snarled, not giving him a chance to finish. "Your fat head!"

Dante tossed his head back and laughed heartily. "Well then, babe. Like I said, happy birthday."

"What?" Trish stared at him in utter confusion. Rubbing her arm only made the sensation worse, but she could feel it slightly decreasing in strength.

He leapt up, and bowed. "My first birthday gift to you. 'Njoy. No worries; it'll pass." With that, he started out the door. "Man, I'm starving."

Trish shook her head. How many times had she looked at him, totally oblivious to what he was saying? Her stomach growled, and she decided to follow him, left arm hanging limply at her side.

They both left the calm of the room.


End file.
